


if all else fails you can blame it on me

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort Sex, Coulson is such an unreliable narrator, Coulson's pov, Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, angsty sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They are not having an affair. It's a lot simpler and more complicated than that.</i> (spoilers for 1x14)</p>
            </blockquote>





	if all else fails you can blame it on me

 

 

It's not a habit, but it might be an addiction. Coulson doesn't consider himself a man prone to this kind of mistakes, but maybe he should revise that opinion.

The first time it happens they are alone in the plane.

Everybody is having their own kind of hard time adjusting after Skye comes back to them, decides to work again.

Coulson resolves they deserve a break and sends them to a five star hotel in Phoenix. It's the first breather they've had since they had to move literally heaven and earth to save their companion's life. The break was designed a bit with Skye in mind so Coulson feels a bit deflated when she tells her that she's staying in the Bus.

"It's okay, I'd rather stay here, you know. My bunk. It feels more..." she trails off.

He knows what she means.

"I'm staying, too."

"You don't have to do that for me. I don't need–"

"I have paperwork to finish; I'm the only one around here who does that kind of thing. I'll be in my office if you need me."

After midnight he goes downstairs, pacing around the Bus to clear his head. He expects Skye is already asleep – she's still on a recovery internal clock, resting for long hours, her body fighting for a way back to energy and health. She must be in bed right now and Coulson doesn't know why he swings by her bunk anyway.

At first he finds silence as he expected, feels relieved by the idea of a resting Skye. He's about to walk away when he hears a muffled noise from behind her door.

She's crying.

The first instinct is to leave her alone. If she's closed her door that means she wants privacy to do this. Maybe it's the only time she can allow herself to do this, when there's no one in the bunks next to hers.

His first instinct is to leave her alone but he ignores it.

He knocks softly and then slides the door open without waiting for her voice.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

She gathers herself when she sees him, shoulders hunched, body turned away. She hurriedly dries her cheeks with the back of her wrist and when she looks up at Coulson there's a brittle smile in place, a good effort for his sake.

"Oh, no, this is not... Sorry, it's so silly. I didn't want to –" she watches as he sits by her side on the bed. "No, really, I'm fine. You don't have to."

He puts his hand on her back, "It doesn't matter."

He doesn't have to ask why she's crying. He knows.

He slips his arm around her shoulder. This is the first time he's touched her since she was shot. Part of him thinks it's because he's afraid she'll disappear if he does, that her being alive with them is not real. He pulls her into a hug and still he doesn't believe it's real.

Her face is damp against his shirt.

He knew she was bound to break down some time. Ever since she woke up from her injuries, ever since Coulson told her what had been done to her exactly (what _he_ did to her) Skye has been fixated on putting on a brave face. It's not healthy, Coulson has seen enough good agents crash and burn because they had refused to let the process run its course, and they had been ultimately unable to confront their trauma. He's not one to talk, exactly, but he hopes Skye won't make the same mistakes he did. The same mistakes he's making.

"It's good. You have to let it out."

She grits her teeth. " _I'm_ fine."

She fights his arms around her for a moment and he gives her that space, knowing she only half means to push him away. Her hands are twisted into his clothes.

"It's okay, it's okay, Skye. We all understand what you're going through. You don't have to hold it in."

She buries his face into his shoulder, then rolls it and presses it deep under his arm. Skye moves into his embrace until her body is something tiny and shivery folded against Coulson's chest.

He mutters comforting words into her hair. It doesn't matter which ones. She's so wracked with sobs that she probably can't hear him anyway. He strokes her hair for a while.

They stay like that some minutes. He's happy he can be of some comfort. It's mostly his fault, anyway.

Suddenly he feels the contact of her mouth against the the bloodbeat of his neck, he knows it's no accident. Specially when she repeats it, turning and kissing the spot above the careful knot of his tie, under his chin. She means to move upwards but Coulson stops her.

"Skye... what are you doing...?"

He pushes her away so that he can see her face. There's just raw hurt and raw need in there, it shocks him so much that he misses the beat when Skye props herself on one knee and brings her mouth to his.

It takes him a moment but Coulson promptly tears himself away, eyes blown wide and mouth hot like he's just been burnt.

"What _the_ –?"

"Let me," she mutters, fists into his lapels and pulling him to her, or pulling herself to him, it doesn't matter.

She tries to kiss him again but this time Coulson is quicker, grabs her by the wrists and stops her. He can't get her off him but he can stop her at least. He has a vague idea why this is happening and his mind struggles, in a panic, to find a way to put a finish to the scene before it ruins everything.

"Stop, stop, Skye. You are scared, it's natural. But you don't want this. You _don't_."

"I need – I need –" she says brokenly, voice coarse with crying and panic.

Her eyes are wide and full of fright and Coulson finds himself aching to break something – Ian Quinn's neck, most probably. He scrambles to find a way to let her down gently, to explain that it's the fear making her want this, that it's not real. A way to explain that she would feel much worse than this, afterwards.

"Skye, listen to me now –"

She interrupts, stubborn as she is, disapproving of his tone. " _No._ I need this."

She kisses his jaw and Coulson believes her.

"Please. I need to feel..."

The things is: Coulson is not stupid, he knows he's going to lose her if he does this. He knows she will come to her senses and look back on this as him taking advantage.

But right now, right this second, she is hurting so much and Coulson would do anything to stop that pain. The rest doesn't really matter to him. If he can offer just one moment of solace he doesn't care what happens to him afterwards.

So he lets her kiss him (doesn't kiss back). He lets her touch him (doesn't touch her). He lets her grab his hand and press it to her chest, warmth through layers of clothes. Coulson is stunned to feel the fast heartbeat under his palm. She kisses him like she wants to take everything from him.

The bed is not big enough for this, it's obvious when she lies on her back and he has to climb on top without meaning to. His suit feels like a prison but right now it's a safety measure against Skye's hungry hands.

She peels off her jeans and underwear with desperation. Coulson is afraid to touch bare skin but then she takes his left hand and guides it between her legs. He closes his eyes because it's too much, then realizes it's the sensation itself which is too much and closing his eyes doesn't help. She makes a choking noise when he tries to move his fingers. He can't do that, he realizes, so he leans in to kiss her, distract her from asking for more. This, kissing her, is too strange, this is Skye, he reminds himself, the wet mouth, the little moans at the back of her throat, the breasts pressed under his chest, the way she grips Coulson's jacket until her knuckles turn white, that's all still the Skye he knows and shouldn't be doing this with.

"Wait... I need – if I could just..." she pants, moving to that his knees are between her legs.

He runs one hand up her leg to her pelvis, tracing her length of the bone. She's solid under his fingertips and that gives Coulson some relief he didn't know he was looking for. _She's alive_ like he didn't actually believe it until just now.

Her hands fly to his belt but Coulson can't bear the thought of her undressing him, her fingers touching him like that. He pushes her hands away carefully and he does it himself, pushing his pants and boxers just far enough for this to be technically possible, to give Skye what she needs but not one bit more.

"Are you sure...?"

But of course she can't be sure. Her only impulses are grief and quick oblivion.

She hisses, impatiently, "Fuck, Coulson... just – _move_."

He does.

It doesn't last long. She gets there before him, biting her lip and burying her face in his shirt, a sad, desperate orgasm. Coulson then tries not to make a sound, not looking at her, looking away, when he comes.

 

 

 

**two**

The second time it's fifteen minutes later.

There's a measure of contentment in the way they lie next to each other in her extremely narrow bed, matching their ragged breathing until the room quietens a bit, Coulson constricted by a suit that will forever smell of sex and Skye. The suit is already ruined, like everything else. He closes his eyes for a minute. He's too shaken to try to move, try to run away from her. _Shaken_ is the word; this is the first time he's been intimate with another person since, well, since before _Tahiti_. That person turns out to be Skye and that's too grimly ironic, he can't think about that. He can't think about anything, actually, so he lets himself be lulled by a boneless state of post-orgasm, trying not too touch the girl by his side, by drawing in the warmth of another body near.

A hundred years could have passed, but it's only a few minutes. He hears Skye draw a long breath.

She turns to face him. Coulson swallows, waiting to see disgust and recrimination in her eyes. He's expecting shame to come down like a final curtain over them. There's none of that. There's some peace, some gratitude. Coulson doesn't understand.

"Thank you," she tells him.

He frowns. " _Thank you_?"

Skye smiles. It's the closest thing to a smile Coulson can actually believe since she woke up.

"I was in a bad place tonight and you –"

She stretches out to kiss him. This time is light, almost sweet. She repeats it. This time it doesn't take long for Coulson to kiss her back. They stay like that for a while, deep, lazy kisses. Until he feels some kind of pressure rising again insider her. This time it's gentle, she doesn't _push_. She grabs his jacket and finally frees him from it, now Coulson can finally breathe. Then she undoes his tie delicately, letting it fall on the floor. They don't stop kissing.

He moves over her, drawn by her hands tugging at his shirt. He's getting hard again, which is ridiculous, he's not a young man anymore, he tries not to think too much about that, the sickening feeling at the bottom of his stomach because Skye _needs him_ , this is not about him, this cannot become something twisted by his own desire.

This time she wraps her legs around him. This time is slow, they make it last. Coulson doesn't know what kind of calamities await them after they've realized what they've done, in the next few hours. But right now it's almost nice, it's warm at least, and it is tender – their eyes are locked and they carefully study each other as he moves inside of her, deep, his thrusts matching the rhythm of her breathing.

She doesn't come this time, but lets out a contented sigh when Coulson does, his mouth warm across her neck, his mouth heavy with her name.

 

 

 

**three**

It doesn't happen again for days and days and Coulson thinks she has realized it's better this way. She hasn't said anything but she doesn't look like she hates him either.

He should have been clearer on boundaries, he realizes now. That's why this has happened. He shouldn't have been so intense with Skye from day one, he shouldn't have let her get so close. He thinks back on their conversations and realizes sometimes he didn't sound like a boss. That's why she got confused. He understands that she needed to go to someone when hurting, but he has made it too easy to be that person. He even let her hug him when he first told her (lied to her) about her origins; he had almost hugged back, not exactly the kind of thing a boss does. Skye doesn't want this, he's sure of it, but in retrospect he sees why she might have believed she did.

It seems to be over, whatever the other night was. He just hopes the fallout is not too much for them to bear.

And then one morning after the team's meeting she grabs his arm and leads him to the back of the SUV with a decided but troubling look in her eyes.

She pratically jumps on him before the door is even closed.

"Jesus, Skye, what –"

It doesn't matter what the question was, he knew she wouldn't let him finish it. He has been trying to forget the taste of her kisses, the way her tongue would press against the roof of his mouth, the way she's girlish and earnest. He has been trying to think of that as if a fevered dream, not something that actually happened, something he has to take responsibility for.

She pulls away to look at him. She looks serious and frightened and unlike Skye.

"I'm okay. Right?"

He doesn't understand what she is asking. He feels caged under the weight of her body, her warmth.

"It's not going to stop working... whatever you did to save my life. I'm alive. Right?"

He freezes. Well, it's not like he hasn't had that thought himself. He grabs Skye's hips, presses her down against him. He hates the fact that his cock is already hard.

He was the one who pumped her full of alien poison, the one who thought any kind of pain was worth her being alive.

She doesn't see it like that, of course. The worst part is Skye doesn't blame him. She hurts and hurts and hurts but it doesn't occur to her to make the association between that and Coulson.

"You saved my life," she says, and Coulson thinks he has to take responsibility for that at least.

She takes his hand, guiding him to her breast. Coulson palms her through her blue plaid shirt and her bra. There are too many clothes between them, he wants to give her more. If she is going to take everything from him anyway he wants to do it right.

Right now she is kissing him with an urgency that terrifies him.

She rubs against his leg until she gets frustrated and slips her jeans down her hips. It happens too quickly and soon Coulson's fingers push into her need and her desperation, he crooks them and Skye has to dig her fingernails into his shoulders. Not so much that she draws blood but he knows it'll bruise. The idea makes his mouth go dry – he ignores it, he is denying his own lust right now, if she focuses on Skye maybe he has a chance of surviving this.

Skye moves against his hand helplessly. He watches her face. She looks so young, younger even than that. _What the fuck are you doing, Phil?_ a voice in his head.

He had meant to be her protector, her replacement family, a mentor, a father figure. Not this. Not his fingers inside her because he wants to be what Skye needs, he wants to be whatever she thinks will help.

She doesn't make a sound when she comes. She grabs his head in her hands and kisses him hard. Then she slips into her clothes again, ready to climb out of the vehicle.

"Do you want me to...?" she gestures in the direction of his own arousal.

"It's okay."

She turns to leave, "Um, thanks."

And she leaves in a hurry.

 

 

 

**four**

The next time he is there to hear her nightmares.

They haven't fucked but she is in his bed. Coulson doesn't know how that happened. A knock on his door at three a.m. Skye didn't say a word. What could he do but let her climb into his bed and slip under his covers. She is wearing her hair in a braid and he pushes it out of the way to clasp a comforting hand on her shoulder. She's in her t-shirt and pajama shorts. Coulson knows he'll have to change the sheets, he doesn't want her smell on his bed if he can help it.

"I don't want to be alone," she whispers – really meaning: who could I be with like this, but you?

She doesn't press against him, she doesn't seek more than just a bit of space on the edge of his bed. Coulson lets her.

They fall asleep like that.

He has one arm around her and it's her body moving in her sleep what wakes him up. His room is not completely dark – the communications monitor, night clouds outside – and he can see her face, recognizes the concentrated expression of someone trying to fight their way out of a nightmare. Something ignites in Coulson's chest, remembering the times it was him trapped inside.

She dreams in a quiet voice; Coulson can't make out what she's mumbling – except once or twice he catches her asking for help.

He grabs her arm, shaking her slightly.

"Skye."

Her eyes open to Coulson sitting up on the bed, looking down at her with concern.

" _What?_ " She sits up too.

"You were having a nightmare," he tells her.

She rubs her eyes.

"Did I wake you? Sorry."

He reaches out to stroke her cheek, taking her face in his hand. He's very bad with boundaries, he muses. This has been a problem from day one. Skye deserved much better than that.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks, voice so tiny.

"Do you want to leave?"

Skye shakes her head slightly, looking down at the tangle of sheets around her legs.

He pulls her gently on her side, wrapping his arm around her waist. Skye tenses for a moment, then slides her arm underneath his shoulder. She settles against his chest. Coulson kisses her neck, her back, right above the well-worn collar of her t-shirt, skin flustered with the effort of fighting bad dreams.

When he wakes up she's gone and he's grateful somebody remembers there are other four people in this plane, somebody remembers that what they are doing is not okay.

 

 

 

**five**

He knows what Skye is doing. It's not the first time he's seen it. He has been a soldier, he knows what mistaking comfort for lust looks like. Soldiers and trained agents can recognize it for what it is; they can discern there's nothing wrong with feeling it (an illusion, after all) but the consequences of acting on it can prove a catastrophe. Skye is not a soldier or a trained agent. Skye is just Skye, why would she have to know this?

There's a war but they are the only two people in it. They can't talk about it with any of the others. They wouldn't understand.

In his room, with the rest of the team asleep in their bunks one floor below them, Skye is quiet under his hands. Her body fitting contentedly into his, he soothes her, comforts her, calms her down, makes love to her. It happens four, five times, enough times for Coulson to understand it's too late to reject her, to let her down gently. He is stuck with his own bad decisions until Skye stops needing him, stops thinking she needs him to survive.

 

 

 

**six**

They don't talk about it, like talking about it would give the whole thing a solidity they are not ready to admit. They accept it, they push it, they cling to it. But they never talk about it.

Ever since she got back on the field she's been fearful on missions: too careful, double-checking everything, questioning the necessity of walking into danger. Coulson knows this is natural too. Some agents, after they've had a particularly close one, give in to fear. He watches Skye stick near Simmons most of the days – he's pretty sure she's not doing it on purpose, but it was Simmons' hands which took care of Skye, kept her safe, brought her back. In a subsconscious way Skye is keeping herself covered.

The nights are different, though, and Skye doesn't want protection here, she wants distraction.

Coulson finds it disturbing that no one in the Bus seems to notice. Skye has been looking like shit since she recovered (thought that's not really the word and bitter laughter sings in Coulson's throat whenever he thinks about it). He's pretty sure he himself looks even worse than that.

They don't start it in open spaces. There's no room for kissing in dark corners, or surreptitious touches. They are not having an affair. It's a lot simpler and more complicated than that. It's closed doors every time, it's his room or her bunk or the SUV.

Once she tries to start it when they are sitting inside Lola, about to drive back to the Bus from a mission. Skye tries to snake her hand up his leg, her lips pursed in an unmistakeable _offer_. Coulson grabs her wrists, a little too tight this time but he can't risk it. He says nothing but Skye understands the unforgiving look.

"Oh, so that's the line you draw?" she says and it's the closest they ever get to talking about it.

They drive back in silence.

 

 

 

**seven**

When they have a stopover it's always her the one who comes to his hotel room.

Coulson tries not to give the team too many breaks, because he knows this is what will happen. He wants to say he's professional enough, sane enough, that he can avoid it affecting his job.

He isn't.

On those nights he always leaves the bar first, trying to numb his guilt with one more glass than he'd normally have in this situation. Except: there has never been a situation like this. He waits for her in his room, waits for the knock on the door that it's so light Coulson is always tempted to pretend he doesn't hear. He opens the door already out of his jacket and with his tie slacked.

Being naked in front of her still unnerves him. Skye shows her own nakedness with reservation, offering it up to him like a sign of trust more than desire. She's beautiful, he's not a complete fool, but she's just a girl, what can he do with that.

When she is naked the scar across her stomach hangs between them like a warning sign, a cruel reminder. Coulson has mostly ignored it, because he suspects that's what Skye wants. He wants to tell her that it's okay, that he knows what it's like, coming back from the dead to find you are not the same person anymore. He wouldn't be here with her if he didn't have that knowledge. But their tacit agreement is that he should ignore the wounds.

Not tonight, though. He kneels before her. He brushes the tips of his fingers over scarred tissue. Suddenly he feels her whole body tremble, and her legs start kicking at him, trying to push him away.

"No!" she sits up, retreating against the headboard in a panic.

"Skye?"

She looks back at him like she's afraid. But not afraid _of him_. He offers his hands to anchor her.

"I'm sorry," she says, frowning, annoyed at her own reaction.

He understands, though. God knows he's had his own set of issues with his scars. He thought it might help her, but he was wrong. He strokes her naked legs.

"It's okay, it's okay. I won't do that," he assures her. "Let's do something else."

Under her still suspicious eyes Coulson slides down the bed, on his hands and knees, and positions himself between her thighs. He takes one of her legs and gently lifts it until it's above his shoulder.

It takes Skye a bit to realize what he's doing.

"You don't have to do that. I know guys don't..." She's almost blushing.

His grip on her thighs tightens. She's so fucking young, he thinks, she must have had _boys_ for partners, selfish, impatient, useless boys. He feels angry and possessive for a moment, before reminding himself this is not about that, this is about giving her what she needs.

"Lie down, relax," he says in a calming, bossy tone.

She gives it a little grin. "Yes, sir."

And it's good, seeing her smile is good. Coulson is resolved to coax as much joy from her as he can, even fake, fleeting joy. He kisses the inside of her thigh and Skye shivers, a tiny _oh_ sound escaping her lips. He kisses and laps and presses his tongue flat against her, slowly, letting her get used to it before he pushes in.

It only takes a moment before he is aware of every noise she makes, her fingers digging into the sheets, the way she tries to roll her hips, pushing down on him.

He wants her to calm down a bit, the palm of his firm hand against her thigh trying to slow down her urgency. He wants her to breathe, to enjoy this. He's good at it too. He's had plenty of experience, and he's always been a generous (if slightly detached) lover. His stomach drops if he even thinks about the word _lover_ right now. This is not about that; this is about comfort and Skye and limiting the damage he's done.

"Oh, fuck, Coulson, could you – just, _fuck_."

She comes against his mouth.

Afterwards they lie in bed and Skye is tracing the scar on his chest with her thumb.

"We're a bit alike now," she says, resting her head on his shoulder. He feels sick.

He tangles one hand into her hair, her taste in his mouth, trying to stop himself from shivering.

 

 

 

**eight**

He starts believing he can fix everything this way.

If he sees Skye looking troubled, or sad, or doubtful, Coulson will offer the only things he knows actually work. She doesn't have to say anything and she doesn't have to be the one to initiate things so often; he has learned to read her moods.

He's convinced himself he goes to her because he can tell she needs it, not because he wants to.

He's convinced himself of a great deal of things.

He catches her reading the file –her file, the one without lies, the one not meant for their superiors– over and over again. He catches her reading well into the night.

He takes her hand and leads her to his room. At this point getting caught is the least of Coulson's concerns.

Soon she's in his bed, being undressed with more tenderness than required. He unclasps her bra gently and expertly, kissing between her shoulderblades. Skye shivers before pushing her whole body back against his mouth.

Sometimes she fucks him in a rush, sometimes in a frenzy, and sometimes in a desperate attempt to erase whatever is burning underneath her skin at the moment. But sometimes it's also like this: sitting on his bed and she climbs onto him while Coulson holds her hips in his steady hands. She rocks against his body, heavy, rests her chin on his shoulder, her fingers are darting over his heart, playing with his chest hair. She lies so still that he can feel her pulse around his cock. These times are the worst of them all, quiet and loving and Coulson almost _forgets_.

"I'm a little screwed up right now," she tells him when she's finished.

He brushes locks of hair off her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I did this."

She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter."

Which is not the same as telling him it's not his fault.

 

 

 

 

**nine**

She is straddling him on the bed. The hotel room smells like every other hotel room they've been in, a smell Coulson immediately associates with her body pressed against him.

She's been kissing him for a while, with patience, their clothes still on. Wet, open-mouth kisses.

When she is this close, when she is tender rather than desperate, guilt drops on him like a ton of bricks and he finds it difficult to breathe.

"I try to be a good guy, I don't do this," he confesses.

"This?"

"I'm your superior."

"Because we haven't broken enough rules as it is..." she points out, moving one knee between his legs. He growls.

"I'm taking advantage. I'm so much older than you. I could easily be your father."

Skye chuckles into his mouth, but it's bitter and mocking. He's hard against the weight of her, which kind of defeats his point.

"That's a great argument, A.C. Very strong. But as the defense attorney I have to say. Objection: relevance."

She kisses him hard. She doesn't kiss like a girl anymore, she kisses like someone who knows Coulson so intimately that she can extract a groan with a flick of her tongue, her teeth sinking into his lip.

She kisses him like she wants him, rather than needs him.

 

 

 

 

 

**ten**

She's gone back to being reckless, more than before, a new edge in her stride. She's reckless because she has come back from the dead, Coulson knows exactly what that fire in your throat feels like. What's the worst that could happen? The worst has _already happened_.

It does seep through into their job, more often than not, whatever it is they are having.

They are outside the lab, fresh from a mission and he is shouting at her. Skye stands there, glaring at him, certain in the rightgeousness of her actions. He grabs her arm.

"Don't you ever disobey a direct order like that."

She snaps herself free of his grip, looking like he just burned her arm.

"Get your hands off me!"

They all stare back at Coulson. He shakes his head at them. They are used to Skye being erratic lately, but they all atribute it to her brush with death. Coulson feels like a traitor. Ward gives him a questioning look, wondering if as her S.O. he should be following. Coulson shakes his head again. _He_ 'll follow.

Minutes later he tells her, outside her bunk: "I'm still your boss."

She curls her fingers around the crook of his elbow. "I'm sorry, I'm horrible."

They don't touch in public spaces. This is not an affair. But he hugs her anyway.

 

 

 

**eleven**

They're in a hotel somewhere in Michigan and she doesn't come to his room.

It's the first time this happens.

Coulson tells himself it's for the best. He's always known this was a temporary arragement – he was a crutch. Skye would soon grow out of it.

He is not going to let it bother him, because that would be admitting he's been doing this for something other than selfless reasons. He's fucked up, yes, but with good intentions. He's happy she's over it.

He lies in bed for a long time.

Then around one o'clock he walks to the end of the hallway. He stops himself once, twice, before he finally knocks on her door.

There's a moment of silence (is he relieved or disappointed?) and then he hears the patter of her boots on the floor, getting closer. Skye opens the door in her simple red dress.

"Hi, A.C." she says sunnily, with just that hint of doubt behind her eyes.

She moves out of the way to let him in, walking back to her bed.

She has her legs pulled up against her chest. She looks like she has been waiting for something.

"So, what's up?"

He tangles his fingers in her hair, bringing her mouth to his. It's a bit more intense than he had meant to.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have come. You were –"

"I was _waiting_. I don't want you to do anything you don't want."

He kisses her again, can't stop it.

"Thank you for coming," she says, earnestly, like she actually didn't expect him to.

 _Stop that_ , he wants to shake her, hard, shit, he swears he is going to up and walk away if she says thanks to him one more time.

He pushes her down hard into the matress. It would look like passion if he didn't know better. He feels old and ridiculous. He thinks she smirks against his kiss when he presses his erection very purposedly against her thigh. She moves her hand to cup him through his pants. Definitely old and ridiculous, he repeats in his head. Then his head empties out of everything but _Skye_ and her fingers and _want_. He tries to overlook that last one.

"And thank you _for coming_ ," she says afterwards, eyebrows quirked upwards, horribly missing the mark of being sexy and entering the area of gross.

Coulson laughs anyway.

 

 

 

**twelve**

It all kind of explodes in their faces and everybody discovers it and Coulson is grateful for the fact that May has not punched him just yet.

They haven't been particularly discrete and Coulson is not particularly surprised.

May doesn't even bother knocking on his door after she followed him upstairs. God, he needs a drink, or two.

"I know what you are going to say," he begins, May's face nothing he didn't expect or deserve. "You are going to say that if it was affecting our work, I should have stopped."

"That's not the only thing I was going to say," she replies dryly. He feels exhilarated at the idea of being murdered by her, because then at least it will all be over.

She has known him a long time, she can see through the bullshit excuses he makes for what has happened (is happening, will continue to happen), the excuses he makes for himself. On the other hand he realizes May understands nothing about this, how could she.

"Well, it's affecting our work, but I am not stopping. I can't stop it. I know it must sound hypocritcal to you but May, I _can't_."

May looks at him like he is too stupid to even make it worth it, killing him.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"I don't know."

"Is she?"

No, obviously not.

"She needs me."

 _No_ , Ward says some time later, hand on Coulson's chest, contained rage in the set curve of his jaw. He says: "You're taking advantage of her."

He brushes Ward's hand away. "What made you think I would disagree with that?"

 

 

 

**thirteen**

It ends where it started; her bunk at night while the rest of the team are out on a break.

He's doing some paperwork again when she calls him through the intercom, asking if he can come to see her.

"Thanks for taking time to, um, see me," she says brightly. It feels uncomplicated. She almost looks like the Skye of old. The Skye before he –

"No problem."

"Sit with me," she tells him, but it doesn't sound like when it does when she is trying to get him to fuck her.

So he sits by her side and Skye turns to face him, cross-legged over the covers. He tries not to think about the number of times he's been here, with Skye under his weight. She seems to be thinking about what to say for a long time, or at least long enough that Coulson loses his patience.

"What is it, Skye?"

"Yes, sorry. It's been heavy lately and I know I still have a long way to go. But I wanted to tell you: I'm okay."

It sounds like the truth; Coulson looks at her and she looks fine, she looks strong.

"It's good to hear that," he says, flatly.

She's searching his face for something. Whatever it is she doesn't find it, he's too good at being unknowable, so she keeps on talking.

"These last couple of months have been... very strange. Confusing. I've been... not myself. And I wanted to say I'm sorry, for that. It felt like everything was choking me, and I thought you were the only one who could help, and this the only way. I thought I needed you."

The past tense makes Coulson's stomach twist; he can't tell if it's relief or disappointment. (of course he can tell, _fucking hell, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into, you foolish old man?_ ) He decides it's both.

"I don't need you," she says, spelling it out.

"Good," he breathes, because he can tell Skye is waiting for him to say something before she can continue. "That's good."

Something unreadable crosses her expression.

"I don't need you. But hey, that's a good thing. I figured it out. Now I know, I _want_ you. I'm actually pretty much in love with you, apparently," she lets out a little nervous laugh. "Don't worry. I'm not saying you have to want me back, it's all right. I know you don't feel that way. I know you've only done this out of some sense of, I don't know, duty. You can stop now, I'm fine. You don't have to pretend–"

"Skye. What did you say?"

"That you don't have to–"

He kisses her.

He kisses her the way he should have from the beginning, free and without guilt.

She pulls away, eyes very wide.

"But I thought..." she notices the way he's looking at her. "Oh, god, _come here_."

Skye grabs him by the lapels, hands trembling, but decided.

So it ends exactly where it started.

And then it starts again.


End file.
